Some Things just get Better
by Legofodopip
Summary: Kari Winters is a journalist. Not JUST a journalist, but one of the most well known journalists around the country. And her next assignment is hunting down a Mr. Mark Cohen for a very intriguing interview. But will they get more than they asked for? R&R!
1. Brief Prologue

There wasn't much to be said on the topic of Journalism. The courses had to be taken, a person was required to constantly write, and –before or after—eventually managed to land a job at a local paper. But really, it left the person with the title 'journalist' and a pad of paper as a permanent attachment to their hand.

Kari Winters, twenty years of age, had too much experience in the journalism aspect of her life. Or so her friends thought. She was used to writing anything and everything, from newspaper articles to commercial jingles. While a lot of people know of her work, she'd decided—early on—to avoid recognition among her friends, and chosen a pseudo name. Her friends and family were very aware of her avid writing style, but weren't aware of how much income she actually had. So, Daddy pulled the card of 'Provider', and she let every one believe he provided for her well furnished apartment, along with most of her expenses when she was out. Truth be told, Kari could have nearly anything she wanted—if she wanted it. But more often than not, she stuck to work and home.

Authors Note: I wanted to lead up to the story for a reason. 1. It didn't quite work with what came after it. 2. Because I like prologues.


	2. Workaholic!

"What?"

"Sorry, Kari, but we need your article on the taxes," prodded a young female, a year or two younger than Kari Winters who was frustrated as it is.

"What about the taxes? I'm not writing about taxes. Who told you that?"

Her coworker, Dawn, turned over a list that had the requirements for that week's paper. "Right here—Oh! That's Bill, Never mind! Yours—Advice Column? That's in. You're fine."

"I know." Rolling her eyes, she pushed back long strand of fiery, apple-red hair. "I'm working on something else," Pause. "I'm going out for a bit."

"Actually, Kari? The head Boss guy needs to talk to you before you run off."

"You're certain you have the right person this time?"

"Absolutely."

Getting up, she shut off her computer, gathered a stack of papers, and proceeded to place her things in her satchel-purse. These mixed among drawings, song lyrics, and scripts. Taking her things, she brushed herself off before taking the necessary steps to get to Richard's office. Instead of knocking, she wiggled the door handle.

"COME IN!"

"You wanted me?" she asked, as she stepped into the boldly colored office, piled with books, reports, pictures, posters, and years of newspapers. A scruffy man, in his early thirties, sat at a covered desk. "I saw your article."

"You always see them."

"I didn't agree with your advice," he started, clasping his hands in front of himself on the desk.

"Well," she replied, "You and I don't always see eye to eye, do we?"

He grinned. "You advised everyone in New York City to buy a nice work suit and get a 'fucking' job," Pause. "However amusing this is, I still have to ask. Is something bothering you?"

She watched him for a moment. "Remove the obscenity. But they need to hear my column. There's a huge epidemic with AIDS and HIV. We have a strip club down the street. If everyone took the risk of looking nice and getting a job, maybe they wouldn't need drugs, and they wouldn't run around screwing each other every five minutes. The _last_ thing we want is for them to breed. It's ridiculous. You don't want **scum** working with you. You want dignified people who wear clean clothes to work and actually TRY to get something done."

"I'm taking you out for drinks."

"What?"

"We're going out for drinks."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"But it's the middle of the day!"

Flipping open the blinds, he flashed her a view of the city. "It's night. It's time to go home and relax since you've been at work by six-thirty every morning, even though we have to push you out of work by nine. People like to sleep. But you," he stood up, removed his suit jacket and tie, and placed them on the coat rack next to his desk. "You are coming with me. For drinks."

"But—"

"No buts.."

"Yes, but—"

"NO!"

"Fine. Have a cow. I swear to God, Richard, if you take advantage of me, I'll—"

"I've heard this before. I just want you to let your hair down. Actually experience New York City for what it is."

"Dirty?"

"Come on, wise ass. We've got some clubs to hit."

"Like this?"

"No," he reached into a filing cabinet, and pulled out the black dress she'd worn at the Christmas party last year. She'd changed to finish her article on Drugs and their affect on children, while everyone was partying and having fun. He'd taken the dress, and put it away for a time when he knew she'd need it.

"Shoes?"

"I've got those too."

"Give me my things, Richard. How you snagged them, I don't know. But this has gone beyond the call of duty."

"This isn't duty, sweetheart. It's life. Now, go change. And hurry!"


	3. Where

"Look at you!" Richie whistled, as Kari stepped out of the restroom. Her black dress moved to accentuate all the right curves, the shoes made the dress appear a tiny bit shorter, and her hair nearly glowed in the light.

Running a few fingers self-consciously through her hair, she shrugged. "I can't look at myself now, Richard. There's no mirror."

Rolling his eyes, he watched her for a moment longer, lingering over the edges of the dress, and how amazing she looked in it. Offering her his arm, he grinned. "Let's go get something to drink."

Instead of taking his arm, she walked back to her cubicle, grabbed her coat, and started down the hall toward the elevator. "This is ridiculous, Richard. Completely ridiculous."

He followed her down the hall, a smirk still firmly planted on his face. "It's drinks, sweetheart. Not a bleeding orgy."

They didn't talk in the elevator at all. Unless glaring and smirking counted for talking.

Stepping out of the elevator, Kari crossed her arms, and waited for her 'escort'. "The only reason I'm going is because I want you to print that article."

"I know."

"You don't care?"

"Oh, I care," was his quick reply. "I just think a bit of alcohol could do you a world of good."

Deciding not to fight with him for once, she followed him out of the building, and into the streets of New York City. At first, she was repulsed by the garbage and vulgar language. But she soon fell in love with the lights, the vendors, and the theatres that lined the streets. The people, however, she could mostly do without.

"It's right up here. An Irish Pub turned retro a few years ago. Now, you can get shots within reasonable price, and hop to the next bar," he glanced over at her. She really did look gorgeous. "Are you ready?"

Turning to look at him, she raised an eyebrow, expression clearly flashing confusion. "What? I missed something.."

"I asked you if you're ready. You know, to get drunk and dance on tables."

"In these shoes?"

Laughing for the first time in since they'd left the building, he led her into the first bar. Ordering a round of Whiskey shots, Rich grinned at his friend, and leaned back against the booth. "You know, last year I had the cubicle next to you. How I managed editor is beyond me. But I miss you, Kari. We used to be really good friends, and I miss that."

She smiled at him from across the table, and offered a shrug. "You accepted the job. You've moved up in the huge chain of writers struggling to make it. You made it, Rich. Don't feel bad that you have money and a decent life. Really."

"Oh, don't pull that money shit on me. I've seen your flat. You've got it made. Daddy buys his princess everything, doesn't he?"

"I just remembered why I don't go out with you anymore."

When the shots came, he pulled two out and set one in front of her. "Just toss it down. It's quick, burns for a second, but it numbs after a few shots. You've got six. Can you handle that? First one done picks the next bar."

Raising an eyebrow, she moved to taste the contents of the tiny glass. Grimacing, she plugged her nose, and tossed it back, setting the glass firmly on the table. "That's foul, Rich. Disgusting and foul."

He had three down, and was continually grinning. "You'll get better at it. Drink those, and I'll grab you something a little more..girly."

"Hey! I can drink these. I don't need your girly drink," she retorted, as she pitched two more shots down her throat before she cringed, and shook her head. "I don't know how you stand it."

"One shot at a time."

Kari grinned, and threw another shot down. "I'm done."

"No, you're not, you cheat! You left two on the tray."

"I was trying to be nice. I thought you wanted them…"

"Kari—" he warned as he pushed the glasses closer to her. "Drink the damn shots so we can run off. We're meeting up with group of friends."

Tossing the last two down, she glared playfully, and moved to stand up. "Are we done here then?" As her feet touched the ground, she felt a wave of uncertainty. "I can't feel the floor."

"What?"

"Rich, where the fuck is the floor?"


	4. Who the heck are you?

"You can't be pissed already," he scoffed, although he did move to help her step toward the door. "We'll get you some crackers, sweet. I'm sure you'll find the floor soon.."

Gripping his arm as though he was teaching her to walk on water, she raised an eyebrow. "I'm not mad at you, why would I be mad at you?" Pause. "Oh..never mind." Pause. "No, I'm not drunk. I just can't seem to locate the floor."

"Just come with me. And stop talking about the floor," he smirked, as they stepped out of the bar. Slowly moving down the street, they were looking for the next bar, when Rich raised his hand an d waved at a large group of people, oddly dressed, a ways down the street. "Hey!"

"What are you doing?" she hissed, "They're below you, Richard. They aren't decently dressed, we certainly aren't going to fit in. And they aren't going to have money to pay for anything they buy."

Turning to look at her, he sighed. "Shut up, Kari. You don't even know them," he muttered as they continued to approach the group of people.

"It's not fair, Rich. You READ my article. You know my stance on this."

He nodded, tight lipped. "And I'm about to change it. We're all going to the bar as friends. You will NOT tell them to buy suits, go to work, and fuck off. Are we clear?"

"Yes," she sighed, as they stepped into the horde of people in front of them.

"Hey!" was the common shout throughout the group, as all fourteen of them –this included Roger's band and a few roadies—watched Rich and Kari approach.

"So, who's the new babe, and are you sharing?" someone asked, grinning at Rich.

Startled for a moment, she quickly found her power to glare. "I am not going to toler-" and that was as far as she got before Rich clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, just someone I work with," he answered, shaking his head in warning before letting go. "Heads up guys, she's feisty, and harsh. So be quick to ignore most of the things she spouts off." Turning to Kari, he smirked. "Be good, make friends, and Have fun. I'll meet up with you at the bar."

"Meet up with you at the bar," she mimicked after he'd gone on ahead. Flipping him off behind his back, she crossed her arms, and struggled to follow after the group which had gone quite a bit ahead of her.

After a few minutes, she heard someone cough behind her. Jumping, she spun around--quite unsteadily--to find an almost geeky guy, it had to be the glasses, with a camera attached to his hand. "Want to say anything?"

"Fuck off?" she offered 'helpfully'.

Grinning, he turned off the camera, and slid it into a satchel-purse at his side. Coincidentally, it was nearly the same bag as her own, which happened to lay uselessly in Richard's office. "I'm Mark. You are?"

"Drunk. Nice to meet you." Taking off her shoes, she held them by the straps in her left hand. Finally, she turned back to look at him. "Do you know where we're going?"

Nodding, he moved to walk next to her. "So, you're a friend of Rich?"

Raising an eyebrow with a 'YOU'RE talking to ME' kind of attitude, she waited for him to get a clue. Apparently, he didn't. "We used to be friends."

"Oh," he replied quietly, almost confused.

They walked side-by-side all the way to the bar where the gang had managed to down their first round of shots. Smiling nervously at Rich, she moved to the counter to order a Kamikaze. It was the only way she knew how to drink. Wine, Champagne, Liquor. Definitely not whiskey and jello shots. Grabbing a seat at the counter, she looked around to find where the camera kid had run off. To her surprise, he and another girl were getting rather cozy in a booth along with a rocker guy and apparently, his girlfriend. "Disgusting behavior in the city," she huffed, staring at her glass. "Disgusting bars and shots," taking a swig, she let the liquid settle in her mouth for a second before swallowing. "Stupid cigarette smoke everywhere."

"You don't like to drink?"

Turning to look at who'd settled next to here, she found a large black man. Watching her with kind eyes and a gentle grin, he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Honey, you're in the best place you can be."

Staring down at his hand, she raised an eyebrow. "Not to be rude," she started.

"There you go!" shouted Rich, as he grinned at the two of them seated at the counter.

"But who the hell are you," Kari asked, watching the man with uncertainty.

Continuing to grin, he offered her a hand. "Tom Collins. Professor of Philosophy at NYU," Pause. "But most everyone calls me Collins. Friends call me Collins."

Nodding in reply, she didn't shrug off his hand or tell him to let go. Instead, she lifted her glass and drank deeply. Smacking her lips after, she grinned gently at her new friend. "So, Collins. Philosophy, huh?"

"Philosophy."

Leaning toward the bartender, she giggled. "Get my friend something," Pause. "You do drink, right?"

"Hell Yes!"

"So you want whiskey...What?"

Shrugging, she watched the bartender for a second. "You have any stoli on hand?"

"Only the best," was the quick reply.

"I'll have a glass of that."

"Coming right up," answered the bartender before he went to fix the drink.

"So, you talk about half full glasses and what not?"

"A bit."

"Just everything?"

Collins grinned again, and took a sip of the stoli that had been slipped in front of him. "I talk about a lot of stuff. What about you? What do you do?"

"I write."

"Yeah," he turned to face her, both hands on his glass now. "About what?"

"All of New York getting a fucking job."


	5. NOT A CHAPTER

Author's Note:

The documents and chapters keep freaking out. My goal is to put my new chapter up today. I just want to see if this works!


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